


going home

by estherroberts



Category: Ars Paradoxica (Podcast)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estherroberts/pseuds/estherroberts
Summary: esther goes back to new york two different times, with varying results





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #1945

esther sits on the plane and she can hear her heart pounding in her chest. she isn’t afraid of flying, no, she’s never been afraid of anything. instead, her heart beats with excitement. 

new york is her city. no matter how far she goes, no matter how high she climbs, there is a piece of her waiting in the big apple.   
  
she’s not going to think about bridget, oh no.   
  
instead, she thinks of her mother, and how in the hell she’ll navigate that conversation.   
  
she tries a few replies in her mind, practicing possibilities and dodging difficult questions, but it’s been over a year since she’s spoken to anyone outside polvo and she wouldn’t even know where to begin.   
  
esther gives up, and falls asleep for the rest of the flight.

* * *

“ESTHER! WHY HAVEN’T YOU RANG!”   
  
esther is assaulted by hugs, kisses and nagging the minute she steps in the door. “i did ring! and look!” she waves her arms around, “i’m here now!”   
  
“give me your coat! you haven’t been eating enough! sit down! i just got back from the nice deli your father used to go to.”  
  
“i’m not hungry,” she laughs, “i ate something when i got off the plane.”  
  
all her mom has to do is look at her and she’s complying. “okay, okay! i’m eating, see?”  
  
her mother, thankfully, asks no questions about the job. instead, she asks about the food, (yes, they’re feeding me there!) the “nice, jewish boys” (no, i’m there to do science! and that joke’s getting old) the bosses (yes, they’re treating me right!) and of course, the friends (my god! mom, yes, i have friends!)   
  
esther, of course, has no right to be indignant about the last question. she’s never been good at… interpersonal relations. sure, she has friends now. but boy, does she know how to utterly destroy every close relationship she’s ever had.   
  
she finally manages to take hold of the conversation and asks her mother how things have been in new york.   
  
“oh, well, here, the plumbing’s gone wonky and six more floorboards are creaky. sometimes i get letters from your aunts because they never got phone lines, but what can you do?“   
  
“what can you do indeed,” esther mumbles, as her mother continues.   
  
“marceline across the street had another baby, can you believe? joe carson died, that goldstein girl got married finally, and,” a beat of silence. “the martinellis next door? they got a rock thrown through their window, moved out two weeks ago. you used to be friends with their girl, right?”  
  
esther’s brain presents her with a memory of kissing angie martinelli in the alley between their houses at age fourteen.   
  
“um.” she clears her throat, hoping she isn’t blushing. “yes. that’s awful, though!”   
  
her mother nods. “it’s been happening to all the families on the other side.”  
  
“but the martinellis, they’re americans! so’s everyone else who lives here now.”   
  
“i know.”

“ma?”  
  
“yes?”  
  
“is it true that- that they’re not letting us in? from europe?”  
  
esther does her best to stay informed, of course she does, but they don’t have much access to the outside world, other than the occasional radio update.   
  
the doorbell rings before esther gets an answer, but her mother looks back as she gets up. “we’ll talk about it after your cousins leave.” 

* * *

thankfully, most of the conversations don’t revolve around esther.   
  
somehow she is handed someone’s baby (is it abby’s? or rita’s?) and she occupies herself by using the scientific method to test which facial expressions get her cousin to laugh the most.   
  
she is directly addressed only twice, once at the door on their way in with pleasantries, and once at the door on their way out with further pleasantries. in return, she attempts to join in the conversation only once.   
  
“i heard they were actively hiring lesbians in the army,” rita says in a scandalized whisper, and it takes everything esther has not to react.   
  
“ _i_  heard they were trying to weed them out!” abby replies,   
  
and esther looks up, and says, “i heard they’re doing good work.”

it’s silent after that, for a minute, before someone brings up their friend’s husband’s aunt’s matzo and how awful it was.   
  
she spends the rest of the evening cursing herself under her breath.

* * *

when esther was sixteen years old, she got in the habit of waking up every morning at three to the sound of her mother’s tears. though it has been quite some time since then, she finds that once again, her feet carry her to the kitchen in this twilight hour.   
  
somehow she doesn’t think that it’s her father’s death that her mom is grieving this time.   
  
“oh, esther,” her mom gets up, still crying, and puts the kettle on. “i’m sorry i woke you.”  
  
she shakes her head. “no, it’s okay.”  
  
and in that moment, it hits esther full force. she’d been too caught up in sally’s arrival, the time-piece, the trip to vegas and the rumors about the bomb test that she had almost forgotten. her people have been killed and tortured in europe by the thousands, and she had pushed it to the back of her mind because it hurt too much to look at. but now, at home, in the company of her mother’s sadness, her own grief is allowed to join her at the kitchen table, and it is all consuming.   
  
her mother sits back down with hands outstretched and esther takes them, tears welling in her own eyes. 

* * *

in the morning, it takes esther a few hours and some scrambled eggs before the hollow feeling in her chest is mostly dissipated.   
  
her mother leaves for some volunteer food donation meeting, (“you sure you don’t want to come? okay. alright! don’t let me forget i owe you at  _least_  one round of dilemma after dinner tonight! i want to see if your skills have improved,”) and esther says her goodbyes faintly before adding that she might go out and take a walk around the city.   
  
her current plans mostly consisted of sitting on the couch staring at the phone, until she finally picks it up to talk to the operator.   
  
she dials and hangs up five times before whispering, “can you connect me to uh, a bridget dreyfuss please?”   
  
it rings once, twice. she feels like she’s going to be ill.   
  
“hello?”  
  
oh god. it’s her. it’s really her. esther opens her mouth closes it once, twice.   
  
“hello? is anyone there? this is bridget speaking.”  
  
_click!_  
  
she can’t do it.   
  
the scientist in esther is telling her to stay exactly where she is and analyze what went wrong the first time and try again, that she knows the law of large numbers states with more trials there will be more successes but-  
  
she really can’t.   
  
she gets dressed in a flurry and flies out the door. 

* * *

being in the city immediately puts her at ease. there is something so relieving about the anonymity of being lost in the crowds of people, something so peaceful. here, she isn’t “esther roberts working on a top secret time machine” here, she is “just another local going about her business” and isn’t that just lovely?  
  
she walks without purpose for a long time, weaving in and out of neighborhoods she used to know, taking note of new stores and factories and really, how many more cars there are.   
  
when the combination of noise and nostalgia becomes just a little too much, she slips into an art museum and pays the fee.   
  
already, the pace of her feet and her heart have slowed measurably.   
  
this, she thinks, this is something you really don’t see in polvo.   
  
she wanders around, committed to actually appreciating each piece instead of analyzing it.   
  
she and bridget used to visit art museums together, she remembers with a jolt, pointing out the figures they related to the most or posing like the statues.   
  
she shakes her head, almost smiling, and continues her aimless path.   
  
esther isn’t sure if she falls asleep, or daydreams or slips into some other form of time travel than the one they’re working on, but when she finally looks outside it has already gotten dark. 

* * *

on the way back, esther walks with more confidence and ferocity in her step. she wouldn’t be caught dead looking anything less than lethal at this hour, by herself, in the middle of the city.   
  
she does stop once, though. on the street corner opposite, walking with a man in a tailored suit, is that…a familiar glimmer of hair? the light stepping walk esther knows so well?   
  
it’s gone. if bridget really had been there, which already she is starting to doubt, it’s not in the cards for their paths to cross tonight.   
  
she waits a moment longer, halfway between longing and regret, and heads home. 

* * *

“it’s your turn!”   
  
“i know i’m just- hm.”   
  
“admit it, you don’t know what to do!”  
  
“never!” esther makes her move and her mother arches her brows, impressed.   
  
“have you been practicing?”  
  
“actually, i have been! so there’s this guy, jack,” esther smiles, thinking of her friend. “he’s been assigned to all the same projects i have since we got there, and we get along really great, when he’s not making fun of me… or the other way around.” she laughs and adds, “anyway he got the game _right_ away and we play all the time, it’s incredible” she stops for a second, and then looks back up. “yeah, i love jack.”  
  
her mother leans forward and sets down her cards. “esther, are you telling me after all the this time you’ve finally found-“  
  
“no,” she shakes her head. “ma, he’s my best friend. it’s not like that.”  
  
for a minute, she thinks her mom won’t believe her.   
  
but then, “you’ve never had one of those either. i’m happy for you.”  
  
esther beams. “thanks. it’s nice.”  
  
her mother takes her turn and then asks her about her other friends.  
  
as they play, esther happily tells her about sally and anthony and quentin and helen, about dinner parties and their adventures and, without getting into specifics, how wonderful it is to be working on science with a group like that. 

* * *

“jack?” esther answers the phone nervously, wyatt wouldn’t have called unless something was wrong.   
  
“hey, esther,” her friend’s voice crackles through the phone. “i just got back to polvo and uh.”  
  
“what is it?”  
  
“quentin. he’s. well, he’s dead.”  
  
“what!”  
  
“he and sally were working on the time piece and apparently a bullet came out of nowhere and shot him and they’re gonna have a funeral, so. come home?”   
  
esther’s in shock. of course she’s sad about losing quentin, she really liked the guy, but in that moment all she can think is,  _it could have been me. it could have been any of us. it could have been me._  
  
“yeah. yes. i’ll come home. are you okay? is june? is sally?”   
  
“i’m fine, june’s beyond distraught, and i’m eighty percent sure sally’s working on some new tech to prove she didn’t kill him.”  
  
“goddamn it. okay. i’ll be there as soon as i can. thanks, jack.”  
  
“no problem, esther. see ya soon.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #1949

“hey roberts, do you ever miss him?“ sally plops down into her aisle seat and looks at esther expectantly.

esther looks away from the window and furrows her brow. “sorry?”

“wyatt. was it hard to, y’know, let him go? you never talk about it.”

“it  _was_  quite a bit ago.”

“i’m not sure that qualifies as an answer.”

esther hesitates. “yes, sally. i do miss him. he’s- he was my best friend.” 

“there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

“but, he wasn’t happy.”

esther can hear sally muttering to herself, “or committed to the organization’s ideals…”

“hey!”

“it’s true!”

“they bugged him. did you know that? they wanted to know where he was going and what he was doing and they bugged him.” this was ever so slightly more than esther had intended to reveal, but it’s too late now to regret it. 

“roberts,“ sally says with concern in her voice, “please tell me you told him.”

“of course i told him.” she pauses, and then smiles just the tiniest bit. “i also might have lied to chet about where he was going, too.”

“so you  _do_  care!” 

“didn’t i say that?”

“i suppose you sort of did.”

silence falls again, and since esther is already in the sharing mood, she decides to tell sally one more thing. “if it matters, i miss you too sometimes.”

“awwwww that’s sweet.”

* * *

there’s something about spending time with sally that esther has never been able to put her finger on. maybe it’s because she’s from the future, maybe it’s because she’s just  _sally_ , but esther feels… more like herself? more relaxed? sure, she’s still using the bureaucratic doublespeak that she can’t untwist from her tongue, but she does mean most of the things she says to sally once they get to the hotel. particularly when she says she worries about her still, and especially when they’re talking about the coma. 

jack left town, anthony stepped into the blackroom, and sally fell into her coma all on the same day, and esther was left alone to fend for herself and the direction of the organization. 

this is one of those moments, she thinks, glancing at sally one more time as she goes out the door, that she wishes she was better at speaking from her heart. right now, she wants to tell sally everything that happened over the past year and a half and find some remnant of the friendship they’d had before. but she can’t make herself turn back around and do it. 

* * *

esther, dolled up and ready to go, speeds through the streets, hardly glancing at the business of the city. 

oh, certainly, she’s fueled by the way the everything comes to life at night, by being  _home_ , but her own nervousness about seeing bridget is the only thing on her mind. 

she takes a few steadying breaths. it’s been four years since her last attempt to contact bridget, and even though she’d actually spoken to her on the phone this time, she hadn’t been able to keep her voice from shaking. 

so much has changed. it seems a silly thought, but really, esther has to wonder if she’s even the same person she was the last time she was home. she has so much more responsibility now, so much more power, and she has to admit that she knows herself a lot damn better than she did before. 

she shakes her head as if to clear it. of course she’s the same person. just a little more of a… what would sally say? a badass. 

esther’s going into this with her head held high and her pride intact. she’s going to expect the best and be prepared for the worst. oh, and all of the memories, both lovely and painful, that dance at the edge of her mind are not going ruin this for her. 

* * *

“it keeps me engaged.” 

“that used to be my job,” esther says, and though some of those pesky memories had slipped back into her mind earlier, she’s hit with a whole flood of them now. 

bridget blushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. she clears her throat, takes a sip of her drink, and meets esther’s eyes.  

esther can barely breathe. bridget is here and she’s real and she’s not a ghost on the streets of the city or a voice at the end of a phone call, and they’ve been talking for hours and, god, she’s just… she’s  _bridget_. 

before the stare lasts too long, esther mentions the art museum she visited the last time she’d been in new york. “you would have loved it, seriously. i got lost in the paintings.”

“i think i got lost in your eyes for a second there, ettie.”

it’s esther’s turn to blush, but she manages to hold her composure this time. “you’re absolutely gorgeous, you know that?” 

“sorry? what was that?” bridget grins, making it perfectly clear she heard her. 

“oh, don’t make me repeat it,” she says with a giggle, and bridget joins in. 

as their laughter diminishes, esther looks at her ex with a question in her eyes. they used to be so good at wordless communication, she wonders if her message will be understood now. 

bridget notices, and nods quickly with the slightest of giddy smiles. 

she takes out her wallet, slips enough to cover both of their drinks under the glass, and takes bridget’s hand. 

it’s sprinkling lightly when they step outside, and so their trip back to bridget’s is taken at breathless pace. each of them steals a glance at every crosswalk, their interlocking fingers don’t break for a moment, and their smiles don’t fade either. 

when they arrive, esther looks up and down the street, and seeing no one, steals the smallest of kisses before they go in.

bridget scrunches up her nose and her eyes in delight, and she ushers esther inside, quickly locking the door behind them. 

* * *

“what were we going to do, get an apartment and tell everyone we were just ‘unlucky in love?’”  
  
“ _yes!_ ”   
  
“what?!”   
  
“i-” esther stops, opens and closes her mouth as she tries desperately to think of something,  _anything_ , to say to save this sinking ship.   
  
“bridge, i really messed things up. clearly.”   
  
“obviously.”   
  
“no, i mean-”  _c'mon_  esther, spit it out! “that’s- i- when i think about you, when i actually, let myself, think about you…”  
  
“jesus, esther, where the hell is this going!?”   
  
“i want that! i still want that. to live in apartment with you, to say screw you to everyone else, and just be happy.”   
  
they’re both sitting straight up now, facing each other, staring. it’s a painfully vulnerable position and esther is tempted to get up and put on her shirt. but she refrains.   
  
“if i asked you,” bridget begins, her voice low and trembling, “if i asked you to quit…”   
  
the truth of the matter is that esther is of two minds. the answer is that of course she would quit, in an instant, a heartbeat, she would do  _anything_  for bridget. but the answer is also that this organization is her blood and her sweat and her tears and she could  _never_  let it go. and then, something else occurs to her. another truth. “to be honest with you, i don’t think i can.”   
  
“godDAMNIT! see, i knew you would-”  
  
“no,” esther laughs, and she feels just a little hysterical, “i truly believe they would kill me if i quit.”   
  
“oh, my god, ettie. you’re being serious right now.”   
  
“yes.”   
  
bridget runs her fingers through her hair and sighs.   
  
esther takes a breath. “do you still love me?” she lets the words fall from her lips and land lightly on the bed sheets, even though she wishes she could scoop them up and shove them back down her throat.   
  
“what do you think?” bridget whispers back, and esther can see every inch of brittle hurt shining in her ex-girlfriend’s eyes.   
  
she reaches out her hand to hold bridget’s and squeezes, once gently, once tightly.   
  
bridget does the same in return, and esther thinks of all the times they said “i love you” this way, under dining hall tables and on busy streets, in art galleries and in the middle of lectures.   
  
“look.” it’s esther turn to sigh. “there’s a position. for an archivist. you don’t have to take it, you don’t even have to consider it. but if there’s any possibility you still want…” she gestures loosely between them, “this…i miss you. and i’d love to work with you.”   
  
bridget studies her for a long while. “i might consider it.”   
  
“that’s enough for me.”  
  
“i think i need to be alone, for a bit. okay?”  
  
“certainly. you know how to reach me.”   
  
“mhm.”  
  
esther dresses quickly and stops at the door. “it was really nice to see you, bridget.”   
  
“same to you, ettie, same to you.”

* * *

esther stares up at the ceiling sullenly. sally should really be here by now. but she has no way to contact her friend and no real motivation to move from her position on the bed anyway. except…

she rolls over and looks at the phone on the dresser. she’s supposed to leave soon and she’s in new york and she didn’t even think about visiting her mother. 

she sits up and dials. 

“hi, ma?”

“ESTHER! YOU RANG!”

“yeah i did. how are you?”

“i’m fantastic, now that you’ve actually bothered to contact me, although several of your younger cousins are- THAT’S NOT SAFE PUT THAT BACK- are over and causing a ruckus, as you can tell.” the line crackles on the other side and esther can hear tiny feet running around in the background. 

“it’s okay. i just, i was in the city for a little and i felt bad i couldn’t come over.” 

“it’s no trouble honey, i know you’re busy with that job. what is it you do, again?”

“nice try.”

“you don’t sound so good, that wasn’t as argumentative as it usually is. are you okay?”

esther hesitates, flopping backwards onto the bed. the cord stretches over her legs and she sighs. 

“i’m gonna take that as a no.”

“mm.”

“is it a boy?”

“sure, sure. it was a boy. or maybe it was work. or maybe it was-”

this time, it’s her mother that sighs. “okay esther, listen.”

“i’m listening.”

“i love you, and whatever’s happening right now? it’s gonna work out. i prom- HEY! YOU CAN’T EAT THAT!”

esther laughs a little and thanks her mother. “i’ll let you go.”

“bye now!”

she hangs up and is about to get up and get her suitcase ready, when the phone rings. 

“mom, i said-“

“ettie!”

“OH. hi, bridget.”

“hi.”

it’s silent for a second, and then bridget seems to remember that she is the one who called esther. “so, uh. i talked to ted, for a long time. because all of… this… was overwhelmingly complex, and i needed someone to sort out the thoughts with.”

“oh?”

“yeah and-“

even though her heart is racing, esther says nothing. 

“and, do you wanna try…  writing letters?”

“oh-“

“it would be long form, long distance communication. that could allow us to redevelop our relationship if- but-“

“yes. i know, yes! it makes sense, bridget. no one would have to uproot their life that way,” esther’s smiling now, filled with hope for the first time in a long time. 

“yeah.”

“thank you, that’s brilliant. you’re brilliant.”

“we’ll go slowly?”

“as slow as you like.” 

“would you like to… send the first one? now that you know my address?”

“absolutely. i have a PO box in Colorado, i’ll put that on the envelope when i send it.”

“great.”

“i have to, uh, get ready to go,”  _and find sally!_  she thinks, “but i look forward to writing that letter.”

“i look forward to receiving it!” 

“bye, bridget.”

“bye, ettie.”

 


End file.
